William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings


In the evening, the lilac scent.

When dry, the cones on the pine were open and appeared ready to fall. A little rain, though, and they have changed their minds. Now their upper halves are closed — not tightly, as when they are green, but enough to demonstrate their connection to the tree.

While standing near the lilac behind the house this morning, I was visited by a little wren, which landed in the bush about four feet from me. We looked at each other, then within the space of several seconds, it hopped from twig to twig and worked its way up to the top, and flew off. The wrens in the yard are smaller and lighter in color than the ones we see on our walks by the river. The river wrens are rugged wrens.

This afternoon I ran new twine from the frame that holds our vine to the hook near the house roof. This year’s fresh canes are already about a foot and a half long, with the bunches of grapes clearly visible.

Later, I read poems and prose in three languages: English, Italian, Spanish. The Italian is a translation of Homer’s Iliad.

The room is crowded with books I brought home to read someday. It was someday when I brought home the first. It has been someday ever since.

May 1, 2021. Evening.


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Categories: New Poems & Pieces

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